Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 9
The big black snake wasn’t exactly clever. Case in point: it once dragged Liao Tingyan straight into the boss’s room, accidentally making her witness him bathing, and nearly got her killed in the process.
For several days after, she eyed the snake with deep suspicion. Was this idiot colleague secretly trying to get her “accidentally” executed? A classic case of using another’s hand to remove the new hire?
But after careful observation, she downgraded its IQ to roughly the same level as her old college roommate’s dog, Big Baby. With that kind of intellect, workplace sabotage requiring finesse was impossible. So she unilaterally forgave its black-cab behavior and still shared bamboo juice whenever it came slithering around to beg.
After all, everyone knows—when you snack at work, you share with colleagues.
Three days in, Liao Tingyan had the rhythm of this new job down. Her coworker was easy enough to handle, the boss rarely appeared, and although the main “work assignment” cursed and spat fire like an angry toddler, it was manageable.
Really, her only complaint was the commute.
Those twenty-plus flights of stairs? Torture. Pure, leg-cramping torture.
By the third day she’d had enough. She rolled up her bedding, dragged it upstairs, and officially moved into the twenty-second floor of the tower. No more climbing up and down like a condemned soul.
Sure, she was nervous at first. What if the ancestor caught her nesting in his tower and decided to plaster her to the wall like a fresco? But when it happened, he didn’t care at all. Not even a glance.
Fear, it turned out, could be adapted to. Exhaustion? That couldn’t.
That night was a new moon.
She lay on her bed, gazing out the window. The crescent hung thin and hazy behind drifting clouds, the giant chains outside barely visible. Her little corner had good light, decent ventilation, and a clear view. From trembling newcomer to someone who could sit and enjoy the moon in the middle of a prison tower—truly, human adaptability was world-class.
But even with the window open, no cool breeze came. The heat pressed in, making her restless. Well past her usual bedtime, she still tossed idly in bed.
“Today’s a new moon,” the flame suddenly piped up, its childish voice bright with excitement. “The first new moon the Three Sacred Mountains have seen in five hundred years.”
Liao Tingyan turned her head. The flame, usually loud and foul-mouthed, had been strangely quiet all day. When she watered it earlier, it had been smaller than usual. Now it was shrunken further, flickering weakly. If size reflected health, this little guy was in bad shape.
Yet its tone wasn’t frightened at all—it was expectant.
Expectant of what?
Before she could wonder more, a chill surged from the doorway. The heat vanished, replaced by icy air that seeped into her bones. A tall, pitch-black figure appeared.
Why would the ancestor come here at this hour?
Liao Tingyan froze, going from relaxed sprawling to tense sprawling in half a second. She even stopped breathing, afraid of drawing attention.
Sima Jiao strode in, his expression dark, his crimson lips curled faintly upward.
She had seen him like this before. Twice, she’d woken at night to fetch bamboo juice with the snake and accidentally glimpsed him outside. Always in black, walking alone across white jade, moving downhill toward the mountain’s base. The chains binding the tower would rattle faintly as he walked, and at a certain distance he’d stop, gaze into the endless night, then turn back, his figure like a drifting black cloud.
Tonight, he carried that same oppressive aura. He walked straight to the flame, reached out, and plucked it.
The scarlet fire spread across his body, sinking into him.
Liao Tingyan, already shivering, pulled the blanket she’d kicked aside back over herself. The air was icy now, cutting through her bones.
Perhaps her movement drew his eye—Sima Jiao suddenly looked at her.
She went stiff. …Play dead. I am a corpse. Just ignore me.
A red flame mark bloomed on his forehead. The flame was gone, yet he looked even more dangerous—like a demon lord who could kill with a thought. Liao Tingyan kept only her eyes visible above the blanket, staring back like a trapped animal.
Then he raised his hand.
And plucked the lotus from the jade pool.
…Wait. That flame-flower is going to cry again. Hold on. Has this whole pool been filled with its tears?
Sima Jiao walked toward her. He sat down directly on her bed, the red lotus brushing across her cheek, filling the air with a cool, crisp fragrance that jolted her awake like three cases of Red Bull.
“Do you know what this is?”
He twirled the flower lazily.
She opened her mouth, helpless against his truth-buff aura. “A red lotus.”
“Wrong,” he said smoothly. “This is the Fengshan Blood Condensed Flower.”
He tilted the bloom. “Do you know what it’s for?”
“Yes. One petal equals a thousand years of cultivation.”
“Correct.” His lips curved faintly. “But if it’s not consumed with my blood, even a shred of it will make you explode into mist.”
Cold sweat rolled down her back. Good thing her lazy instincts had stopped her from eating the petals she’d picked up earlier. Otherwise, she’d already be a splatter pattern on the wall.
His eyes glimmered strangely. “Do you want to kill me?”
She groaned inwardly. Again with this question? Do I look like a killer? Out loud, she mumbled, “No.”
Sima Jiao chuckled and tossed her the lotus. “It’s yours.”
She caught it, panicked. Great. A treasure chest without the key. What am I supposed to do with this? Boss, are you mocking me?
Then he tilted his chin, studying her. “Are you cursing me in your head?”
“Yes.”
AAAH, the truth buff strikes again!
Instead of killing her, he laughed—really laughed—sitting beside her with a strange, unsettling cheer.
Tonight’s boss was far too friendly. Which only made her more terrified. She shrank deeper into the blanket. “Wh-what’s going on with you?”
“Do you think I’m agreeable tonight?” His voice was low, teasing. “Can you guess why?”
The buff was gone. She thought carefully, then offered tentatively: “…Because I’m about to die?”
His smile deepened. “Correct. Very clever.”
“…Oh no.”
He raised a hand. With a single sweep, muffled groans spilled from the void. Several graceful figures tumbled out of nowhere, landing across the hall.
Liao Tingyan blinked. Familiar faces—disciples from the hundred-woman team. So bold! While she was still quaking in her blanket, they’d already launched a full assault.
Though “assault” might be generous. Without him even rising from her bed, a flick of his hand sent them staggering back, coughing blood.
“How can this be? Isn’t this his weakest moment?” one gasped.
“Don’t retreat! Attack!” their leader cried, charging with desperate resolve. The other three gritted their teeth, drew their swords, and followed.
To Liao Tingyan, it all felt oddly anticlimactic. The boss sat beside her, idly pinching her blanket, looking distracted. A moment later, those fierce girls slammed into a stone pillar, vomiting blood in unison.
She sighed and covered her eyes with the lotus. I see nothing. I am not here.
Sima Jiao’s voice drifted above the sound of blood hitting the floor. “I’ve been trapped here five hundred years. My cultivation suppressed, my body tormented. Tonight, on this first new moon, is truly my weakest hour. If you don’t strike now, there won’t be another chance.”
Liao Tingyan almost choked. Who announces their own weakness to their enemies? Either he’s insane… or so arrogant he’s begging to be killed.
A sharp pressure suddenly filled the air, pressing down on her chest.
“Uncle Master, forgive my offense.”
A woman in white appeared, bowing with feigned respect.
Liao Tingyan recognized her—one of the group, usually quiet and low-status. But the title “Uncle Master” revealed the truth. Same generation as the sect leader, which meant terrifying cultivation. To have hidden as a mere disciple?
And apparently, to assassinate Sima Jiao? This whole mission was far more twisted than she’d thought.
“Uncle Master may be the foundation of Gengchen Immortal Mansion,” the woman said coldly, “but you killed my master. This grudge cannot be ignored. I’ll take your life, and then accept my punishment from the sect leader.”
Her words fell as a storm of sword-lights tore through the hall.
Wait, weren’t we all supposed to be spiritually sealed in here? Why does everyone get a fireworks show except me?
Too close to the fight, Liao Tingyan was crushed by the pressure, pinned like collateral damage, her mind screaming.
Sima Jiao barely stirred. A flick of his sleeve, and a wind rose, shredding her sword-light into shards, which turned into a deadly rain.
The white-robed woman reeled, blood on her lips—but her eyes shone. “So your power truly has weakened!”
She pressed harder, sword flashing, but he only countered, seated and unmoved, a bored gloom clinging to him.
Then—“Puff.”
Her body flew, slamming into the far wall, blood spilling freely.
Here, powers were restricted. Even a Fusion-stage cultivator should’ve had the upper hand against him. But she couldn’t even get close. She lay there, eyes burning with unwillingness.
“You… your energy hasn’t weakened at all. You lured us into revealing ourselves!” she spat, bitter. “I thought you didn’t know, but you were baiting us. I was just the vanguard.”
Sima Jiao’s lips curved faintly. “You’re wrong. I am injured. Today is indeed my weakest day.” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “But even in my weakest state… you’re still far too weak.”
Liao Tingyan peeked at him through the lotus and thought bleakly: Boss, your mouth is bleeding while you’re saying cool lines.